


Just Say Yes

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Series: Actual Tennis Samurai [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set directly after My Life, Which Has Not Flowered. The Nationals end with Hyotei High's resounding loss, but there is always next year. It's hard to be too disappointed, anyway, when one Tezuka Kunimitsu has specifically flown in from Germany to see it all unfold, and Atobe is quite determined to have Tezuka all to himself in the aftermath. </p><p>(This is porn. This is just porn.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Say Yes

Azobu Private wins the nationals, of course.

 

The new and improved Hyotei Private High makes a very solid run for it, and it's the singles one match that seals their fate. Atobe takes one game and one game only from Yukimura, but it's a _good_ game, and Yukimura seems to be enjoying himself what with how long Atobe _lasts_ before…well. 

 

Tezuka is rather glad he has never had to face Yukimura personally.

 

Atobe, even an hour later, still looks like he could use half a bottle of wine. Tezuka isn't really sure how to suggest that even in a joking manner, which would probably be appreciated--though no one at Hyotei seems terribly broken up about their loss. There's some grumbling about _dammit, I thought we were past this but it's just the same as Rikkaidai_ , but for the most part, everyone seems pleased with the results, and Tezuka supposes he can understand that. Against such a strong opponent, second place isn't bad at all.

 

Or so he's learned, over the past year. Having a solid, but not _perfect_ first season in the professional circuit has been…enlightening. 

 

(Also, taking time off to visit one's…boyfriend before and during Japan's high school national tournament is an experience and a half).

 

It's much later when they're alone and heading back to the estate, and Atobe _looks_ relieved about it, Tezuka thinks. Decoding Atobe and how he can be such a social butterfly at times is a task and a half, so this is a bit easier for Tezuka to process. That being said, knowing what to _say_ about the entirety of the day is something else entirely. Normally, Atobe is the one with nonstop chatter, and that makes it much easier. Atobe makes _everything_ a little easier, honestly. 

 

Still. He should say _something_. 

 

This, Tezuka wearily thinks, is why he probably wasn't the best captain, and why Oishi had small breakdowns every other week. 

 

"It was a good game." _Even though you still look as white as a sheet._ "If Hyotei had to be second to anyone…"

 

The best thing about losing, if there can be said to be a good thing about losing, is that Atobe feels he can take certain liberties.

 

Tezuka, he expects, thinks him to be a good deal more beaten-down than he feels. After all, the other boy (as well as most of his rivals) have always been less than stellar about remembering that tennis is a game, intended for the pursuit of fun and self-betterment. Yes, they all tend to take it seriously, but what good is playing if not to win? What good is striving if not with the whole of the body and mind?

 

So Atobe isn’t terribly upset when he loses, although he is disappointed, in himself most of all. The coach, fortunately, knows just how hard they’d worked, and how unbeatable Azobu has always been, and he says nothing about any replacements. That’s a minor relief, anyway.

 

And best of all, he gets to fall down onto Tezuka’s lap in the town car, sighing somewhat dramatically. “Was it always destined to be this way, Kunimitsu?” Ah, Tezuka’s lean frame is highly uncomfortable to sit on, but the simple excitement of getting to do so when he surely doesn’t let anyone else makes up for it. 

 

Kind of.

 

Ah. And then there's this. Atobe has this thing about being _on him_ , rather like one of the odd cats his grandfather used to keep. Of course, the cats were particularly talkative and touchy and--that sounds like he's describing Atobe all over again, so maybe he should just stop. Atobe probably wouldn't like being compared to a cat.

 

Rather like dealing with the cat, Tezuka doesn't quite know how to make this sort of attention end, and he sort of likes it, besides, even if ending it seems easier than responding to it favorably. "Like what? With you losing?" Tezuka hazards, and he awkwardly flops his arms over Atobe's back. That's an appropriate response. Right. Definitely. "That does sort of seem to be the case, but…"

 

“I _meant_ with us having the misfortune to be born in the same year as that bloody demigod,” Atobe grouses, butting his head affectionately against Tezuka’s stomach. This is a victory indeed, and one he plans to enjoy thoroughly. “In any other year, there would be no one who could even come close. It would be like...ah, like that Ryouma is now in middle school. On second thought,” he says, frowning a bit, “I’m glad we have stiff competition. He seems quite bored and angry without anyone to challenge him. Yes, things are best as they are. What a miraculous time to be alive!”

 

"…That's one way to look at it, I suppose," Tezuka deadpans, thinking more and more about how Atobe highly resembles a cat. Is he supposed to pet him? Tezuka hovers a hand over Atobe's back, considering. "Personally, I'm glad I have time to get my foot in the door while you are still stuck dealing with him. There is enough competition for me already." 

 

“Mm, so I hear.” Atobe considers for a moment, then grabs Tezuka’s hand, playing gently with each finger in turn. “I wanted to go to your game last week, but we had Quarterfinals. I had a camera crew sent, did you see?”

 

That's better than petting. Atobe's ideas about that sort of thing are always much better than his own. Tezuka relaxes a fraction, sinking back into his seat, and lets his thumb idly brush over the back of Atobe's hand. "I saw. It wasn't that good of a match, though." 

 

“All of your matches are interesting. I have to study properly, so that the next time we meet, you’ll stand no chance against my awe-inspiring style of tennis.” Atobe brings that slender hand to his mouth, kissing the backs of his fingers. “You’ll be thrilled to lose to such a phenomenal style.”

 

"…Can we do that on the off-season?" Tezuka dryly asks, his fingers curling slowly beneath the brush of Atobe's lips, and there's no helping the urge to twist his hand a bit and slide his thumb over the swell of Atobe's lower lip. "Matches with you still last forever, and I'd rather not overtax myself if I don't have to." 

 

Atobe turns his head, biting down gently on Tezuka’s thumb, following it with a swift lick to the tip. “Afraid your arm will give out? You haven’t had to call a match on that account yet, have you?”

 

"No. And I'd like to keep it that way." Tezuka frowns down at him, twisting his thumb against the slide of Atobe's tongue. "You're just always troublesome."

 

Atobe nods, humming low in his throat, with a pleased little nibble. “You like my trouble. You desire my trouble. You want my trouble to follow you around and find you.”

 

"Please stop that. You're doing that thing where you get far too carried away again."

 

“If you’d admit it when I say it the first time, I won’t have to keep going.” Atobe squirms on Tezuka’s lap, ostensibly to be rather naughty, really because Tezuka is bony as a starving bird. “Honestly, Kunimitsu, do famous high school tennis professionals ever _eat_?”

 

Annoyed, Tezuka pulls his hand away from Atobe's mouth and delivers a solid pinch to his side instead. "I eat. Is it true that Italians are prone to excess body fat?" 

 

“Not at all,” Atobe says airily, swatting absently at Tezuka’s hand. “A lovely people, the Italians. Why, is that the nationality you’ve decided my mother is this week? You could just _ask_.”

 

"The last time she was in the same room as me, she was in my lap as much as you are now," Tezuka stiffly reminds him, leaning back with a sound that's _trying_ not to be a huff, but definitely is. "So I'd rather not ask her, and _you_ like being shrouded in mystery."

 

“My mother appreciates beauty as I do,” Atobe says with a laugh. He reaches up, snatching Tezuka’s glasses off his face. “If you let her see you like this, I daresay I’d never hear the end of your loveliness.”

 

Tezuka has learned through several long years of suffering that attempting to get his glasses back from Atobe once stolen is an act of god. It's best just to wait until Atobe has had his fill, and so he sighs, frowning at the blur that is Atobe's face. "Then let's never let that happen. I can assure you both that there's nothing to be so appreciative of, anyway."

 

“But surely with a mind as bright as yours, you can see the flaw in that logic,” Atobe points out, wriggling again until he has Tezuka better in his sights. “You can’t see yourself without your glasses, so how would you know what you’re missing?”

 

"…Do you think I don't lean in close to a mirror sometimes?" Tezuka deadpans, sighing as he makes a half-hearted grab for his glasses--mostly because Atobe gets annoyed if he doesn't at least put up some sort of a fight. "What did I do to earn so many compliments from your esteemed self today, anyway?"

 

Atobe snatches the glasses back, clicking them between his fingers with a superior laugh. “Perhaps I realized my lassitude in not congratulating you on your victory last week and am remedying the problem. Perhaps I just want you in a mood to say _yes_.”

 

Immediately, Tezuka is on guard. "'Yes'? To what, exactly?" It's best to be wary around Atobe (even if Atobe never exactly makes him sorry for saying 'yes', in the end). "Keigo. You know I have to go back to Germany next week, so whatever vacation idea you have in mind is right out." He at least usually feels guilty about saying 'no' to those, because Atobe always is so excited about it all.

 

Atobe grins, reaching a hand up and tracing a finger down Tezuka’s jaw, down his neck. “I just like it when you say yes to me,” he says fondly. “Though I resent the implication that I couldn’t procure us a world-class vacation that lasts less than a week.”

 

Oh. Well. Hm. Sometimes, Atobe does things that make his mind click off in an instant. That's one of them. Tezuka hesitates, his throat bobbing in a slow, hard swallow. "Except your world-class vacations never leave time for practice," he mutters, sinking back a fraction more and letting his head rest against the fine leather of the seat. "You always get me in trouble with my coaches." 

 

“Does a big adult pro tennis player need coaches?” Atobe teases, walking his fingers up to tug on one of Tezuka’s earlobes. “Surely being able to travel the world is one of the perks of being a professional athlete. Though I have no vacation in mind for today that involves leaving my estates, you may be varying degrees of pleased to hear.”

 

"Thank god, I was beginning to think you were on a new set of batteries even after being slapped down by a demigod," Tezuka grumbles, languidly swatting Atobe's hand away. "Staying at your estates sounds very good. You can have a 'yes' to that."

 

Atobe twists around, setting Tezuka’s glasses firmly back onto his ears and nose. He leans in, saying very seriously (except for the light in his eyes), “I expect to hear the word ‘yes’ from your lips a lot this visit, Kunimitsu.”

 

"… Oh," is all Tezuka offers after a moment. It's one thing to know what Atobe is after, something else to hear him sort of…purr it, or whatever it is he does with his voice that makes it sound like melted chocolate. He remembers to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose after another pause. "I…yes." There's another one. 

 

Atobe’s smile glints. He knows, he’s practiced that smile a dozen times today alone. “We’re definitely on the right track. Driver, how much longer?”

 

“Two minutes, Young Master.”

 

“Not enough for anything truly interesting,” Atobe murmurs, hooking a finger in the V of Tezuka’s top button. “You’ll have to help me think of alternate _activities_ , won’t you? Since we don’t want to overtax your poor arm.”

 

"My arm is _fine_ ," Tezuka crossly murmurs, swallowing again when Atobe's fingertips brush the barest hint of skin. He shifts where he sits, suddenly wishing Atobe wasn't on top of him and pressed quite that close. "Can't this wait until we're not… _here?_ " 

 

“You can’t _honestly_ think my driver would betray me,” Atobe says with a laugh, scooting up to flop his head onto Tezuka’s shoulder….ah, also far too bony. “None of my staff would even consider such a thing. But I can wait, if your maiden sensibilities demand it.”

 

"Who's a maiden, exactly?" Tezuka shifts with a soft huff of breath, quite certain that any way that Atobe moves or lays against him isn't fair, not with how warm and solid and _slinky_ he is. If he's as bony as Atobe accuses him of being, then Atobe is some perfect balance between long, lean muscle all underneath skin that Tezuka has heard girls fawn over on a dozen separate occasions. He can't really _blame them_. Every time he's had his hands on Atobe, it's the cliche of silk over steel. "I'd just--prefer if we were alone," he mutters, pleased that he can at least hide his face partially into Atobe's hair like this, because he is _not_ acknowledging how his skin heats up. 

 

“I’ll spare your blushes,” Atobe murmurs, pleased enough with the way Tezuka clings to him to allow any number of liberties. “For now.”

 

The rest of the ride is a short one, and Atobe isn’t subtle about yanking Tezuka out of the car. His parents _certainly_ aren’t home, not that they ever are, not at this villa. It doesn’t matter nearly so much when he’s bringing home someone of whom they’ll so thoroughly approve, but Tezuka is such a cherry boy sometimes (evidence to the contrary) that Atobe can’t help but be careful. 

 

He chooses a bedroom seemingly at random, though in actuality it’s to accent the jacket he’s wearing today, not that Tezuka ever fully appreciates such choices. He shuts the door behind them, draping himself back against it. “Practice your ‘yes’ now, Kunimitsu.”

 

Tezuka has to glare at him first. It's obligatory when he's dragged about like that, though at least he wasn't paraded underneath Atobe's parents' nose this time. The servants in general don't even bat an eye, thankfully. "You've hardly given me anything to say 'yes' to yet," he snipes, tugging his glasses off on his own before Atobe can smudge them or steal them and hide them like he tends to do in moments like these. "Though," he adds, more so underneath his breath than anything, "I think I already agreed to be accommodating." 

 

Atobe grins, and it’s a shame Tezuka can’t see it. Then again, that startling vulnerability in Tezuka’s face when he’s stripped of his glasses more than outweighs the annoyance that his glorious self is just a blur. Surely, the beauty of himself will shine through.

 

He hooks a finger in Tezuka’s belt, bringing him in close, and just barely brushes his lips against the other boy’s before pushing him gently to the bed. “Take off your clothes. Hmm, slowly.”

 

Tezuka sucks in a slow breath when their lips touch for that fleeting moment, and he sinks back gratefully, coming in contact with the mattress just in time when his legs think about resembling jello. At least it's a mild request. The buttons of his shirt are easily enough undone, and he shrugs it off carefully. It would be nice to see Atobe's expression more clearly with things like this, but he can imagine it well enough. "Like this?" he quietly asks, eyes lidding. 

 

There’s something _unfairly_ erotic about how unintentionally erotic everything Tezuka does is. Atobe couldn’t explain it if he tried, but it makes his hand drop to the front of his slacks, slowly squeezing himself as he watches. “Perfect,” he murmurs, voice full of appreciation. “You look _perfect_.”

 

Atobe is a _mess_ of ridiculous flattery at any given time, but it's very different behind a closed door when it's just the two of them. It makes Tezuka's skin prickle with goosebumps, and he swallows hard when heat rises up to his cheeks again. His fingers slide down to his belt, his gaze dropping down as he fumbles with it briefly. "Why do you get to stay dressed?" Tezuka self-consciously mutters, even as he eases his slacks and underwear down his hips in one tug. 

 

“It’s more erotic this way,” Atobe assures him, squeezing through the merino fiber of his slacks. “Don’t you think so, Kunimitsu? I’m certainly finding this….” 

 

He loses words for a moment, watching Tezuka fumble with his belt. “Ah, nice. You have an elegant touch, even when you’re clumsy.”

 

"…At least come here." Tezuka swings out a hand, satisfied when he doesn't entirely miss when it comes to grabbing Atobe's tie in a way that won't choke him when he tugs him forward. Atobe _does_ have a point. There is very much… _something_ , about being naked when Atobe is still clothed, and Tezuka desperately wills away the thought of comparing himself to some kind of courtesan. Undoubtedly, Atobe is doing that already. 

 

Atobe doesn’t waste any time when Tezuka is actually cooperating _actively_. He shoves the other boy down to the bed, pinning his shoulders down and kissing him thoroughly, nipping at his lower lip, letting his hands wander over smooth, unblemished flesh. His clothes, buttons and zippers rasp at it, and that just makes Atobe harder in his slacks. He grins against Tezuka’s mouth, takes one of his hands, and presses it over his cock. “You want this, Kunimitsu?”

 

It's better when Atobe is right.

 

Tezuka sinks into the mattress with a groan, his next, ragged breath lost against Atobe's mouth, and he thinks the flutter of his eyelids should count as a nod. His toes curl against the bed when he arches, shivering at the scrape and grind of clothing against his skin, and ah, he's sure it's all just according to plan when he breathes out a very shaky " _yes_ " against Atobe's lips, eagerly pawing between his legs, his own cock aching at how hard Atobe is underneath his palm, harder still with every squeeze of his fingers.

 

He _likes_ Atobe's plans when they're like this. 

 

Atobe grins against Tezuka’s mouth. Then his eyes flutter at the squeeze of Tezuka’s hand, and he ruts up into the palm of it, mouthing a hot kiss to the side of Tezuka’s neck, enjoying the thought of what would happen if he left a _mark_. “I like it when you say ‘yes,’” he breathes, and draws back to sit on his heels, kneeling above Tezuka. “Take it out.”

 

 _Yes_ is on the tip of his tongue again, but Tezuka swallows it down, still squirming a little from the press of Atobe's mouth to his neck when he obeys, fingers pulling and tugging at Atobe's belt and the fastenings of his pants afterwards. His own cock throbs when his hand finally curls around actual flesh that's hard and heavy in his grasp, the tip slick and dripping hot on his fingers and ah, that's another squirm courtesy of a shiver raking straight down his spine. "Keigo--" The name is barely a rasp leaving his tongue. 

 

His own name probably shouldn’t go to his cock quite that hard.

 

Then again, no one else _uses_ it. 

 

Even his parents somehow don’t wind up calling him that, not that they call him much of anything. 

 

From Tezuka’s lips like _this_ , it’s a whole different league. Atobe’s cock jumps in Tezuka’s hand, and he lets out a low, long hiss of approval. He lurches up, fastening his teeth around Tezuka’s earlobe, tugging and sucking gently. “You still remember how to grab things other than tennis rackets, I see,” he teases.

 

Another, strangled groan leaves Tezuka's throat, and his thumb presses and rubs over the head of Atobe's cock before dragging slickly, stickily down. "It's…with you, it's hard to forget," he huffily protests, his eyes rolling back when Atobe's _mouth_ is on his skin again and has there ever been anything as hot and perfect? Tezuka does a poor job of strangling a whimper when those teeth set to his flesh, and his fingers squeeze tight in a long, shaky slide of his palm, his own hips jutting up to let his cock grind against Atobe's thigh, painfully hard. 

 

“Oh?”

 

Atobe’s hands clench tight, and he tries to keep the composure in his voice when Tezuka is grabbing him so _nicely_ , shy and intent all at the same time. He slides forward, letting Tezuka grind against him, nipping firmly at Tezuka’s neck. “You remember what it feels like inside you, Kunimitsu?”

 

The way that makes his entire body _twitch_ makes Tezuka dazedly worry that he'll just come right then and there. A heavy, ragged breath later, and he manages a nod, his cock dripping steadily onto his own stomach, against Atobe when he can think to lurch up and grind against him. " _Yes_." It's a lot easier to say it when his mind is fuzzy around the edges. That's good, in moments like these. Shame isn't, or so Atobe has taught him a dozen times in the past. "Keigo, put it _in_." 

 

Atobe nods mindlessly, pressing a hard kiss to the front of Tezuka’s shoulder before lurching to the side, rolling a few times before coming to the edge of the bed, and grabbing the lubricant and a condom from the side table. His eyes glint, and he asks, a little amused, “Want me to use this? I know how you feel about _mess_.”

 

That is, not always as bad as he pretends to feel about it. Bundle of contradictions, that Tezuka Kunimitsu. 

 

Before he can answer, Atobe pours a trickle of lube between his legs, taking the opportunity to push in his thumb, letting it sink in, stretching him just a little, eyes locked on that elegant face.

 

Tezuka is sure that the way his body processes everything that Atobe does to him and says to him makes him the worst sexual deviant in the world. 

 

"I--" That first stretch is mind-numbing, and Tezuka shivers, biting at his lip as he twists and wriggles, turning his head to shove it partially into the sheets when his thighs splay wider on their own accord. "You don't have to use it," he settles on, all-too-aware of how flushed his face is when he continues. "It might be awhile before I can see you again, so--"

 

Atobe has to stop a minute and _breathe_. Otherwise, there’s no way he’ll even get inside before he loses himself, and that wouldn’t do much for the great and glorious Atobe name, after all. 

 

He pushes another huge dollop of lube inside, then slicks himself more than liberally, reveling in how messy Tezuka is already. “I understand,” he breathes, settling down on top of the other boy, placing frenzied kisses to his mouth. “Don’t worry. You’ll be feeling me inside you for days. Maybe a week.”

 

That’s all the time he gives before guiding himself inside, feeling the sudden immense pressure, the obscene stretch of Tezuka’s body.

 

That promise shouldn't sound as good as it does. 

 

Instead, it's _perfect_. The white-hot, slick _stretch_ of Atobe sinking inside of him arches his back to a sharp bend, and Tezuka revels in how his mind clicks completely and utterly off, thoughts reduced to nothing but how good it feels to be _full_ with his cock hard and throbbing between them, his thighs trembling as they squeeze about Atobe's hips, and his hands scrabbling up that perfect, lean back to leave his own mark in thin, red scratches through fabric. 

 

"Want you," Tezuka mindlessly pants into his ear, "to really mess me up."

 

Atobe’s vision goes momentarily blank.

 

Then he takes a deep, shuddering breath, taking Tezuka into his arms, and pulls him down _hard_ onto the next thrust, canting his hips to rock in deep. He goes a little deeper with every slick thrust, face buried into Tezuka’s shoulder, running his hands down Tezuka’s back to his ass, squeezing hard. “Feel that,” he orders breathlessly, pulling back far enough to look into Tezuka’s eyes. “That’s me inside you, Kunimitsu.”

 

Not exactly poetry, but all he can handle when Tezuka feels so _good_. “God,” he groans, leaning down to bite and tug at one nipple with his teeth, “I’m going to make you lose your mind.”

 

Tezuka doesn't even recognize the broken, whining keen that pulls from his throat as his own voice, not when the shocks of sharp, trembling _heat_ that rake all the way down to his toes feel so damnably good. His mouth goes slack, his eyes roll back, all when Atobe grabs at him and pulls him just _so_ and holds him down to better take his cock and he's so, so glad that his body wants it so badly that it's _easy_ and every slick thrust makes his nerves misfire a little bit more. 

 

" _Keigo_ \--" One hand drags up, scratches along the back of Atobe's neck and shoulders as his chest heaves. A few choice curses are on the tip of his tongue, though Tezuka settles for a breathless, needy _yes yes please_ instead, not that he can process anything beyond how hard he is, how hard Atobe is inside of him, how he throbs with every thrust that goes particularly deep and god, that's _good_. 

 

Atobe presses hot, mindless kisses over Tezuka’s skin, sloppy and eager, hauling the other boy up into his lap. He lets gravity work, sinking him down slowly, then rolling his hips up. He loves it, the feel of it, the _sound_ of their hips slapping together, the smell of Tezuka sweaty and undone in his arms, the taste of his skin. He wants _more_ , always does, and just now, feels damn good about simply taking it, rutting up into Tezuka’s body with increasingly urgent thrusts.

 

“Just keep saying yes,” he breathes, hands digging in hard to Tezuka’s ass, his waist. “You--love this, don’t you?”

 

Tezuka thinks he nods. He hopes he does, because words aren't as easy right then, not when he gasps for a full breath into Atobe's neck, not when his body acts on its own accord to lend himself to the pull of Atobe's hands and the way his cock slides in so _deep_ at this angle that his eyes cross. His own cock drips slick and messy over Atobe's stomach when he writhes, aching to the point that he can hear the throb of his pulse in his ears, feel every twinge that makes his hands grip that much tighter to Atobe's shoulders, and Tezuka gives _up_. 

 

His teeth nip into the curve of Atobe's shoulder, Tezuka's back in a shuddering curve as he arches, spilling hot and slick between them. That tense, _tight_ bunching of what feels like every line of sinew in his body makes his vision spark white, and there's no helping the whimper that breaks from his throat this time, not when he is so completely and utterly lost.

 

There’s something about making Tezuka come that always feels like _victory_. Atobe loves it, pants out something in triumph when he feels it, squeezing around him and shuddering against him. Pressed this close, chest to chest, he can’t help but feel it as if it’s his own, coursing and rippling through his body. “Ah... _fuck_ , Kunimitsu…”

 

His teeth sink into a pale shoulder when he feels it coming, and has just enough time to whisper, “Brace yourself,” before he spills deep inside Tezuka, so much that he swears he could even see the other boy’s stomach swell slightly. It isn’t true, but the idea of it makes him somehow come harder, as if he isn’t already perverted enough. “You’re a real mess now,” he pants, then summarily collapses on top of Tezuka with a little broken groan.

 

Even if he can already feel it--slick and sticky and hot inside of him--hearing Atobe _say it_ makes him shudder that much more, and the knowledge that he'll be dripping long after this makes Tezuka squirm on Atobe's softening cock. "Good," he mumbles, face flushed hot and promptly twisted to the side, shoved into the bedcovers. 

 

Atobe pulls out slowly, wincing as he does--can’t stay inside while soft, hates pulling out--and flops his head down onto Tezuka’s shoulder. “Don’t clean up. Not until later, okay?”

 

"Wasn't going to." Tezuka throws an arm around Atobe's back, and tries to shove away residual shivers with no luck. "Too much effort," he dimly acknowledges. "And you're comfortable." _Sorry for being skinny._

 

“Mm, you’re not,” Atobe says cheerfully, and just because he can, licks a stripe up the side of Tezuka’s neck. “But I’ll lay on you anyway.”

 

"I'm truly blessed," Tezuka deadpans, shoving Atobe's head down firmly. It's best if he doesn't start something else so soon, lest he think he can get away with everything.


End file.
